Sunday, March 05, 2006
My last day at The House has me running around like a chicken with it’s head cut off. I was supposed to be packed yesterday, but had to weigh the advantages of $30.00 extra from plasma donation against a guaranteed moving ride to my new sober house, Cuilinn House. I blew off my ride in trade for the peace and serenity of packing slowly and organized. Fore I did not know what chaos lay ahead.
Packing was mixed with the excitement of a new place, the sadness recalled from leaving my only Minnesota home with June N., and the comfort of knowing were everything has been packed. I could take my time, being thoughtful about where necessary items were stored. This calmed me down knowing that all would be right.
Time to take a break. Having most of my packing completed, I wander to the upstairs TV room to find The Italian Job playing. Not a moment after seating myself to enjoy this exciting action flick, in roars Macombu W. demanding, “All four of you in the office, now! Having just arrived, I know I’m not in trouble. The fourth man to take the breathalyzer, under protest, tests positive. Yet Another Relapse Victim.
Brian J. is a black man who feels oppressed by society for the color of his skin. He previously relapsed because of the late opening time of the downtown library on Mondays. He tried in vane to make an argument that the system was conspiring against him, even implying that because of the color of my skin I was part of it. We have much experience with his short temper when he drinks. Whether it was his loud angered tone or smell of liquor that did him in this time is in question, but he is no longer welcome here. When you relapse for a second time at The House, you roll the dice with your residency. I hope he finds serenity at The Mission.
With my impatience getting the best of me, I ask one of the residents of The House to give me a ride to Cuilinn House this morning. I offer to pay him $5.00 and he agrees, but wont accept it upon arrival. Admitting I could use the cash and appreciate his gesture, I tell him that if he ever needs computer repair to contact me.
My instincts were correct. No one at Cuilinn House answered phones nor doors. I was finally let in by a resident who wasn’t informed of my arrival and felt he wasn’t getting paid enough for the job of welcoming new residents to their new home (I use the term loosely). I was allowed to place all my worldly belonging in the somewhat cramped living room while I wait for a bed to become available. It’s my understanding that one is waiting for me on the other side of this duplex and that I could simple open the constantly unlocked front door and find it myself. I don’t know what’s more unsettling; the knowledge that door is always left unlocked or the fact that it isn’t.
I’m sending this post from the only place I know of that receives Wi-Fi, the third floor. The Internet access here is spotty. Still waiting for a bed, hungry for lunch I must provide myself, and planning were to get dressed for work this afternoon, I complete this post. I’m missing The House already. Isn’t she a beautiful old Victorian House?
Update 3/6/2006: Brian J. was found in detox last night.